Aristocracy, Book First

Intrigues, and Heroes, whose unequall'd toil Dar'd Freedom's progress many a year to foil; For many a year Columbia's realm who bow'd, Leading, metereous, the deluded crowd: Illustrious Chiefs! who hop'd aloft to rise, And shine distinguish'd in the people's eyes; Themselves alone the helm of state to guide, Floating triumphant o'er the subject tide: Illustrious Chiefs! who sought the bliss divine, In lordly pomp and titled pride to shine; While, bent beneath their oligarchic sway, Their native land should tremble and obey; With those from European shores who came, Brethren in toil, and partners of their fame: What counsels led, what various means employ'd; What foes they conquer'd, what success enjoy'd; What Fates malign against their aims arose, And bade, in sad despair, their labours close; While grief and rev'rence all my soul inspire, I sing, responsive to the mournful lyre.

Hail, hallow'd Sages! venerated Names! Of war and peace, ye bright conducting flames! Columbia's glory, Nature's pride and boast! Though now deserted, desolate, and lost, O may your fame o'er Time's dark rage prevail, And your immortal compeers bid ye hail! And may this verse, which bears to future days That fame, receive a portion of your praise! From one it flows, like you, who scorn'd to feel Fraternal interest in the common weal; Like you, who strove distinction proud to gain, Shar'd in your triumph, and divides your pain.

Hail, native stream! O ROWA, hail to thee! Whose sweet wave winding seeks the neighb'ring sea; Whose flow'ry banks the pastoral city claim, Which proudly bears the Albion Virgin's name. How chang'd the times, since, fill'd with youthful fires, Ambitious thoughts, gay hopes, and warm desires, With great ARISTUS I was wont to rove (His earliest friend) through ev'ry skirting grove; And on thy margin join in frolic play; Or with the hook delude the finny prey; Or, plunging in thy waters, joy'd to lave, And breast with eager strife thy downward wave! Alas! how little did each youngling mind (To ev'ry brighter view alike inclin'd) Foresee the sorrows which, in slumbers mild, Portentous hung o'er each advancing child! In all the sky of life, our searching eye No danger saw, no mis'ry could descry. Our sun of same ran on his glorious way, And blest the nations with his setting ray. We saw him scatter each contending fire, To match his radiance that should dare aspire; Nor sink, till, following his resplendent course, His phoenix offspring rose with equal force. Ah! dread deception!—fatal view obscure! Illusive vision!—medium most impure!— What clouds burst threat'ning from the frowning north! What fearful flames, what thunders issue forth! Wide o'er th' horizon see their volumes roll, And Night tempestuous hangs o'er either pole.

Now, bent with grief, with disappointment worn, I seek thy shore, O ROWA! most forlorn. While great ARISTUS' lordlier soul obtains On—bank some solace of his pains, By thee, O melancholy Stream! my days Shall slowly pass; while, catching notes of praise, Drawn from my mournful, yet resounding lyre, Thy echoing woods shall loftiest deeds inspire. Yes, native Stream! by thee the song shall rise, Which bears thy heroes to the distant skies: Along thy margin shall ARISTUS' name Re-echo'd reach its well-deserved fame; And ev'ry Chieftain's who, with him allied, Fell in his cause, or struggled at his side. What though Contempt and foul Derision join To dim the lustre of their great design; And Hate and Infamy, united, shed Their sickly dews on each illustrious head? What though, like them, by ev'ry ill deprest, Shame, grief, and anger fill the Poet's breast? Yet shall his ardent and immortal lays To future ages give their wond'rous praise: And future ages shall exalt the song, Which dares, in hallow'd strains, their praise prolong; And ev'ry sage, and ev'ry youth, shall say— "Such were the men who scorn'd the people's sway."

Sinking, the Sun withdraws the lightsome day, His slant beams trembling on the water play; With dazzling lustre all the windows glow Of yon high dome, which fronts the wave below; Mild through the ambient wood the splendour streams, And hills and thickets feel the level beams. There great ARISTUS, fill'd with anxious cares, Wanders absorpt, nor aught of pleasure shares. His nobler mind aspires to nobler state, And execrates the slow designs of Fate. Down the slope way his path the hero takes, And now the darkness of the vale he seeks: Uneasy thoughts within his bosom rise, And tears of indignation fill his eyes. At length, with sorrowing, but resentful tones, Burst forth, in sad soliloquy, his moans.

' What Fates disastrous all our labours thwart, ' The toils of Genius, and th' attempts of Art! ' In vain we strive, in vain our might essay, ' And see each promis'd aid our will obey; ' What strength soe'er, and blest events conjoin, ' Some Power adverse still foils the bold design. ' Fair plans are form'd, immense resources league; ' Prudence and passion, frankness and intrigue; ' All parts in happiest unison progress; ' In ev'ry State we seem to meet success; ' The long-sought end within our reach appears; ' Secure, we give the idle wind our fears; ' Glowing with joy, extend th' expectant hand, ' And half secure the boon, the prize command;— ' When, unforeseen, some hidden strength prevails, ' Our prospects perish, and our project fails.

' Is there (which yet I question if there be) ' Some Power, exalted over Time and me? ' One who, with ev'ry wickedness at war, ' Still makes the virtuous his unceasing care; ' Supports their souls 'mid danger's fierce alarms, ' And guards them safe from sorrows and from harms? ' Who gives to Truth the blest reward of joy, ' And bids the arts of Vice its peace destroy? ' —No!—still be this of vulgar tongues the theme; ' Let Priests, and men priest-ridden, hug the dream: ' Nature alike her various bounty grants; ' With equal care supplies her children's wants, ' Whether, of Christian or of Pagan race, ' To Christ or Brahma they their tenets trace; ' Or whether, following their forefather's path, ' They bow to Moses' or Mohammed's faith. ' From action, not belief, their good they gain, ' And Industry and Art the prize obtain: ' Superior power from art superior flows; ' He best can govern men, the most who knows. ' Such are my thoughts—yet some mysterious power ' On all my noblest efforts seems to lour: ' Untoward Fate, or all-deciding Chance, ' Bids with slow steps my mighty schemes advance; ' And though, with Cunning, Industry conspires, ' Still damps, with long delay, my glorious fires.

' Of late, how vast the prospect rose to view, ' When last each chieftain to his post withdrew! ' When union'd councils promis'd bright success, ' And fav'ring Fortune seem'd to woo and bless! ' And now in order meet, and due array, ' Art after art commenc'd our bold display; ' Month following month new promises arose, ' Portentous omens to suspectless foes; ' Events unhop'd for came to aid our cause, ' And foil, in our behalf, opposing laws. ' Yet, ah! when flatt'ring thus our fortunes shone, ' Their splendour lessen'd, from some cause unknown; ' And faint, and fainter now, alas! they fade, ' While frowning storms our fairest skies invade. ' Yet not entirely were the cause o'erthrown, ' But every chief seems stupified to stone; ' Action, suspended, rests; one listless soul ' Throughout infests the wide and torpid whole: ' Else why, neglected, should events arise, ' Which, ably us'd, might near secure the prize? ' Events, which, moulded by our plastic care, ' Would all our worst disasters well repair.

' But does not Self each hero's bosom fire? ' And shall that vital spark, subdu'd, expire? ' Expire, while countless honours live to crown ' Its bold exertions with deserv'd renown?

' Yes, let the rich abjure, the poor despise; ' Tis Self alone which charms each mortal's eyes. ' By this prest on, we ev'ry danger dare, ' In peace that's hidden, or reveal'd in war. ' Still then shall men, with pride enormous, boast ' Of souls, to all but public welfare lost? ' And though in one dull course they onward move, ' Unsway'd by threaten'd wrath, or proffer'd love, ' The idle farce of Patriotism sustain, ' And bask in all the sunny light of gain? ' Fierce indignation rises in my breast ' When I behold their toils by Fortune blest: ' While we, who vary as each coming day ' In different forms shall public will display— ' And strive, beneath this mask of patriot zeal, ' Our proud aspiring wishes to conceal— ' Or yet, with shew of independent mind, ' Still find the bright reward before us fly, ' And rigid Fate each fond request deny.

' And such must be the curst estate of those ' Whose exaltation from the people flows; ' Who on their fickle voice for power depend; ' Servants to all, yet calling each a friend.

' But O when titled place, and gainful might, ' O'er a whole realm maintain usurped right, ' How blest the man who revels in the joy, ' With strength to make, and vigour to destroy! ' And thanks be thine, O CUNNING! Goddess dear! ' If, though remote, for me such good appear. ' Yes, fond Presumption bids me hope, ere long, ' Aided by thee, to bend the vulgar throng; ' With titled friends, in pomp sublime, to move, ' And hold by Fear what now I gain by Love. ' For though self-interest all my actions sway, ' Nor other motive these my friends obey, ' Yet mutual interest here with pers'nal blends, ' And mutual aid subserves our private ends. ' Each seeks for power, yet each perceives how vain ' Would be the struggle, place or power to gain, ' Without the aid of others to procure, ' Without the aid of others to insure. ' Most fortunate in this my hopes appear; ' Blest be thy name, O CUNNING! Goddess dear! ' Where'er I look, dependents greet my view, ' Pow'rful to serve, to all my wishes true. ' Their friend I seem; I aid their petty suits; ' Yet draw, from all their toils, the noblest fruits: ' Nor most distinguish'd 'mid the mighty whole, ' Yet guide their force, and act the moving soul.

' But why, O why so languid and so slow? ' Why rage they not with action's fiercest glow? ' Now, when events so full of promise rise, ' And clothe in brighter hues our changeful skies? ' Alas! I fear some new-found motives sway ' To other schemes their selfish minds astray; ' Some fairer project leagues with adverse powers ' Those very souls the most engag'd in ours.'

' He paus'd, as lost in thought; then, lifting high ' His hand, while lightnings flash'd from either eye—

' By ev'ry Power of Hell (if such there are) ' And by my mightier, dearer Self, I swear! ' If once they swerve—from me no after aid ' Shall any gain; but, all their wiles display'd, ' Th' astonish'd people shall their purpose know, ' Though, lost, I sink beneath the whelming woe.'

Thus, prest with various cares, ARISTUS stray'd; And now his footsteps sought the thicker shade, Where deeper darkness reign'd, with stillness join'd, Luring to gravest thought the anxious mind.

And now, where central fire and Night profound In ten-fold horror lowest Hell surround, ' Mid Pan demonium's walls, in awful state, High on a throne exalted, SATAN sate. Around, in order meet, on either hand. Powers and Dominions, Thrones and Princes stand: Asphaltic lamps, with intermitting light, (A sickly ray!) shot through encircling Night: All were attentive:—when, in accents dread, Shaking the sable horrors of his head, The fearful silence thus the Monarch broke, And Hell's unfathom'd caverns shudder'd as he spoke:—

' Tartarean Potentates, submissive hear! ' And you, ye tenants of the nether sphere! ' While, not unwilling, now your King unfolds ' The secret purpose which his bosom holds. ' Since, sprung from Chaos, self-supported stood ' The earth, and round it roll'd the subject flood, ' Ye know, O Powers! with what embitter'd rage, ' Gainst man, and his proud Maker, war we wage. ' How vast our triumphs, ev'ry fiend can tell, ' Who views the fiercely-flaming lakes of hell. ' Disease and Death we introduc'd, and made ' Unseemly sorrow Heaven's high courts invade; ' And, while his angels wept, man's overthrow ' Hung round th' ETERNAL's throne the gloom of woe; ' And (height of victory! our glory's crown!) ' Bade on the cross expire his lov'd, his only SON.

' Nor hence, in faith's and prophecy's despite, ' Around the globe has e'er declin'd my might. ' Beneath my yoke see Europe sinking low, ' And Asia stoop, and feeble Afric bow, ' O'er half the western world my sway extends, ' And, slowly yielding, now the other bends. ' This to promote, new projects now I frame: ' For this, attention to my voice I claim.

' Wide spread o'er fair Columbia, cloth'd with power, ' And strength obtaining each swift passing hour, ' What names rever'd, subservient to my sway, ' Rise, and increase with each successive day!

' Long have I seen, with heart-distracting grief, ' That land to all distress'd extend relief; ' Seen sacred order ev'ry boon bestow, ' And drive far distant ev'ry threat'ning foe. ' I fear'd that there, indeed, at length would rise, ' Belov'd of men, and cherish'd by the SKIES, ' A mighty Empire, whose resistless force, ' The world involving in its spreading course, ' Beneath one plan would ev'ry State combine, ' The good of man their great, their sole design; ' And hence would flow wealth, liberty, and ease, ' And all earth hail the reign of moral peace.

' But, lo! to Hell more pleasant prospects shine, ' And fair Columbia hastens to be mine. ' Even now, immers'd in dark surrounding shade, ' ARISTUS roams, the spirit and the head. ' His mighty soul now labours to extend ' My spreading sway, himself my dearest friend: ' Rous'd by his arts, through each divided State, ' Obedient to his will, of influence great, ' At whose command the stubborn people move, ' Their power his union'd friends with zeal improve. ' And now, from Europe's shores, th' obedient wind ' Wafts to their aid, of no discordant mind, ' A chosen Chief:— ' Even now his anchors bite the joyful strand, ' And, hark! the people welcome him to land: ' The thund'ring cannon from their ramparts roar, ' And shouts redoubled shake the trembling shore.

' And you, ye Powers! be 't yours with every art ' To gain fresh converts, and fresh aid impart; ' Assistant rumours and deceptions frame, ' And every soul with new-born rage inflame. ' And be ye faithful—for, by Hell I swear, ' What Power soe'er to thwart my will shall dare, ' In fiercest league with Heaven's eternal ire ' The quenchless flames of Hades shall conspire ' To whelm the wretch; who, deep in rain hurl'd, ' Shall prove th' immeasurable wrath of either world.'

He ended threat'ning—and terrific struck His trined spear against the flaming rock Whereon his throne uprose. The Powers around In wild dismay swift vanish'd at the sound: All Hell with horror shudder'd—while a stream, To Earth far shot, of pale sulphureous flame, With momentary ray illum'd the shade Where, lost in thought, the sad ARISTUS stray'd. A secret hope quick fill'd his throbbing breast, And homeward now with eager haste he prest: For black and stormy Night around him roars, And—'s billows thunder on his shores.